


A Beginning: Three Instances

by Prosaic



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, It's "The Prince and The Raven" of course people are dying, One-Sided Relationship, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosaic/pseuds/Prosaic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How a story ends: a princess in mourning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beginning: Three Instances

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written for LiveJournal user lycorne for the 2008 Princess Tutu Secret Santa Exchange. It has since been **HEAVILY** revised. The gift also included a "soundtrack" of sorts which I will include in an end note.
> 
> While the Knight in _The Prince and The Raven_ was never really said to have a name, there was a point in the series when Fakir took on his role as a Mytho's knight quite literally and took up a sword dubbed "Lohengrin's sword". According to Wikipedia: Lohengrin was a character from German Arthurian Literature who is sent in a boat pulled by swans to rescue a maiden who can never ask his identity, the story being a version of the Knight of the Swan legend. The story was later adapted into a popular opera written by Wagner: _Lohengrin_.
> 
> Since then, I've referred to the knight from the story as Lohengrin; hence the character tag for the Knight.

_“Princesses really shouldn’t cry. They have very little to be sad about.”_

......

 

The first time they'd spoken, he had threatened her.

He’d told her, curtly, to stay away from the prince; that she'd hardly had any business being near him and should keep her distance if she didn't want to be considered a greater threat. 

She’d been slightly taken aback and hadn’t quite known how to respond, for no one had ever behaved toward her in such a way before. He'd given her a queer feeling, a sort of muddled blend of reproach and unpleasant surprise. She’d never felt anything like it. 

He’d swept away into the shadows before she could offer any sort of retort in her defense.

This was how they’d met, officially. As far as she’d been concerned, his warning meant little. She’d done nothing wrong. What kind of person must he have been if he was so cold and dismissive to someone he’d never met before? He was nothing like the prince, who'd looked upon everything with gentleness and only regarded people with the utmost courtesy; that’s what had so drawn her to him in the first place.

So naturally she'd paid him and his sharp intimidating gaze little mind, and continued to watch her prince from the cover of the trees.

 

While Prince Siegfried spent most of his time around the castle grounds, he would occasionally escape and rest on the banks of the quiet lake settled nearby in the woods. This was the only time she could get close to him, for _he_ rarely accompanied, begrudgingly respectful of the prince’s desire for solitude.

Sometimes he would sit in a placid silence; brushing the tips of the grass with his fingers, staring up lazily at the clouds visible through the treetops. Other times, however, he would dance. He'd been beautiful when he danced; his movements gentle and open, his turns precise, the embodiment of grace. She would watch, and she would wish--trembling, _straining_ towards him--that one day he would not be dancing alone; that she could stand at his side, winding her own dance with his until they were moving as one, joined together in an intimate pas de deux.

She’d only revealed herself on a few occasions, often in the guise of a swan, paddling up to him from the center of the lake. In those moments he had graced her with that gentle smile, holding out his hand to her as if to ask, _“Will you join me?”_. Her heart would flutter painfully, trapped when it wished to fly from her chest and present itself as an offering-- _For you, for you, if you wish it, if you'll have it_ \--and it had taken all of her restraint not to burst from her feathered form and straight into his arms.

It was different when he would catch a glimpse of her human form. She would duck away into the bushes before he could get a good look at her. And yet, she would always come creeping back, waiting until he’d abandoned his search for something he’d imagined and resumed his dance.

It wasn't that she hadn't longed for him to see her as she was; but not then, not there, it hadn't been the time. Surly the time would come. She just hadn't known when.

......

 

And _he'd_ always been there; watching, waiting, sentinel for the kind-eyed prince. With only one look he could send her backpedaling deeper into the forest, somehow making her feel ashamed that she’d dared to venture so close. 

Her chest had felt tight when she'd thought of him and his easy intimidation. Her maiden’s would have suggested that she hated him if they hadn’t believed her incapable of it. In the past she might have agreed, but after meeting him… 

She’d never so disliked anything before, had never felt so adverse to anyone, but she’d assumed that what she'd felt must have brought her as close to the emotion as she could manage. True, he'd protected the young man she loved from harm, for which she'd been more than grateful. But as a whole he'd repelled her; his tone too curt, his cold black eyes looked past her, _through_ her--dismissive, as if he'd glimpsed into the core of her being and found her lacking. His foreboding air and his obvious cagey distaste of her had thoroughly repulsed her further. 

He'd made her feel small, petty, and unwelcome. The less they came in contact, the happier she’d have been.

...... 

 

But they _did_ come in contact. Siegfried had been beautiful and honorable and brave, but this had held a certain disadvantage. He'd cared--liberally, earnestly--but perhaps too much. Whatever the crisis, he'd be the first to offer his aid, sometimes foolhardily; any task as small as defending a chick from a hungry fox and as large as diving into the river to save a child who had fallen in and been carried away by the harsh rushing waters. He’d nearly fallen out of any and all of the palace windows for a number of different reasons, even after the queen had ordered them all shut.

And so they were there. Every time he'd willingly placed himself in danger, they'd been close behind to protect him from it. 

He would usually reach the prince first, but there were rare occasions when he hadn’t reacted quickly enough, and she'd been able to rush to her beloved's aid (Usually sending one of her attendants or working her own modest magic). She’d been relieved and gratified to be able to help him in her own ways. And even though she'd known her actions would only further arouse the suspicions of the _other_ , she couldn't help but feel a small selfish swell of triumph at seeing his grimace of disapproval afterwards. 

For one short moment, he'd been forced to acknowledge her as something other than a fleeting annoyance. 

......

 

The second time they’d spoken, he had rescued her.

 

It had been during a ball the queen had held for Siegfried on his birthday. The entire kingdom was invited to the celebration, which the citizens had proclaimed to be the greatest affair of its kind to ever be held before. Most notably, there'd been a rumor that from those attending the prince might select a bride.

That had been too tempting an offer for her to ignore.

Her handmaidens had protested. They'd been becoming concerned over her attachment to the prince, convinced that the ordeal would only end in heartache for their princess, which they couldn't bear to wish upon her. Although she valued their feelings and regarded their worry for her, she’d refused to pass up such an opportunity.

She’d donned a hooded cloak and slipped onto the palace grounds, merging with the crowd that had been slowly filing through the huge doors standing flung open to the night at the castle’s entrance. 

The ballroom had been stunning; the high walls decorated with huge tapestries depicting members of the royal family, with garlands of flowers and ribbon looped across the tops of them. Long tables dressed with white and gold cloth held dishes upon dishes laden with food, with great blocks of ice carved to resemble swans in various stages of flight. 

Everything had shown brilliantly under the glow of the hundreds of candles lit in the massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the cool crisp light of the full moon through the tall windows that took up half of the walls. The room had smelt of freshly fallen snow, roses, and the light fragrance of peppermint tea.

She’d stopped walking for a moment to take in the magnificent sight, and had been bumped by a few people crowding in behind her. Startled, she’d scurried into the ballroom and ducked behind one of the winding pillars, peaking out and scanning the mass of people for the guest of honor.

And there he’d been, hardly two feet away from her. Dressed completely in white and black--a color that's dark themes normally might not have suited him but here seemed to take on warmth--his soft eyes glowing a striking gold in the candlelight. She’d been in awe, watching him smile graciously at his guests, bowing at the waist to kiss the hands of the young eligible maidens who’d attended. She'd felt a sudden urgency, grasping her own hand and imagining briefly that she could be the one standing before him, hand outstretching to be gently taken in his own, slowly pulling it towards his waiting lips…

She’d blushed lightly, shaking her head to rid herself of her self-indulgent illusion. Just being there, being so close to him had been gift enough. 

She should have brought something, she’d realized—some token, some gift that could speak for her heart when her voice could not. But what to give someone so selfless?

And all too suddenly, the music had swelled into birth. Dancers mingled around the floor trying to find a partner as the musicians started into a slow waltz. She’d looked back to where her prince was standing and saw him glancing around at his shuffling guests. 

He’d paused for a moment before turning, his gaze landing squarely on her. 

She’d felt a sudden jolt, making her back snap straight, her fingers clench at her sides. Her hood had fallen, and she could feel the heat creeping back into her cheeks. 

Their eyes had met. For that moment, everything had ground to a standstill, the backdrop of the celebration melted away. They were in their own pocket of time, simply looking at each other in innocent surprise and curiosity. He’d blinked, taking in her form, and something that might have been called recognition had shown briefly in his eyes. 

He’d slowly begun to take a step towards her.

Then someone had called to the prince. He’d turned at the sound of his name; their gaze was broken, the moment ended. 

Before he could turn back around, see her again, she’d hurried to conceal herself behind the pillar once more. She’d brought a hand to her face, staring--disoriented--at her trembling fingertips. _What was she doing there? What had she been thinking? How could she have been so utterly foolish to--?_

She’d peered cautiously back around the pillar, taking care not to be seen by the other guests. He’d moved closer to one of the long banquet tables and was engaged in conversation with a regally beautiful woman--also completely in white, whose long lashes barely lifted from their resting place on her high pale cheeks. Her fan had covered the lower half of her face, making it impossible to tell the nature of her conversation with the prince. 

 

There had been a faint step behind her, and before she could turn, he’d snatched her wrist and spun her around to face him. It had certainly occurred to her that she hadn’t seen him while entering the palace that night, and she'd wondered dimly if he had kept to the shadows, keeping watch for unwanted guests or suspect activity (And fortunately for him, it seemed she’d been found guilty of both.) 

She’d looked up into those deep black eyes, fixed into a cool glare she’d come to recognize as one reserved especially for her, and felt her heart squeeze unpleasantly. Just standing that close, looking up into his fierce expression with a matched defiance, she’d felt that same uneasy repulsion roll around in the pit of her stomach. When he’d spoken, demanding she state her purpose for being there--although he’d probably already come to his own conclusion--the feeling had flared in its place and sparked new life into her limbs. 

She’d straightened, squaring her shoulders and tried to look every bit the dignified noble woman, even as his grip tightened on her arm. Although she _had_ stolen into the event, she’d resented his treatment of her, as if she'd been a common thief caught pick-pocketing--filth beneath his boots. She couldn’t see what she might have done over the course of them knowing each other to deserve such ire from the serious young man. The common battle for dominance he’d always engaged her in was one of the things that made her so uncomfortable around him. 

Her struggle had been cut short. They’d been murmuring quietly to each other, trying to simultaneously argue their own standpoints while calling as little attention to themselves as possible so as not to disrupt the other guests. She’d been so thoroughly frustrated with him and wrapped in her argument she hadn’t noticed when his eyes had sharpened and his head turned away from her to look towards the window at his back. 

She’d been about to offer further assertion of her innocence when window had shattered. 

Before she’d known what was happening, he’d pulled her around to the side of the pillar, holding her tight to his chest and covering them both with his cape to protect them from incoming shards of glass. 

She’d been so alarmed she couldn’t even find her voice to let out a cry of surprise. She’d only watched, wide eyed, as what must have been an even hundred ravens tore through the open window and swarmed the dance floor. They'd been coming in from all directions, smashing nearly every window in the ballroom. They'd seemed to sweep up in one inky mass of talons and feathers before descending upon the terrified guests. 

The flight who had crashed through that first window had immediately soared towards the two of them--still frozen under the protection of his cape. She’d been rooted to the spot, clutching fearfully at the embroidery of his vest before she’d realized what she was doing. 

They’d bore down on them, sharp dangerous talons extended, only to have their legs hacked off a split second later by the blade of his sword. 

Before she'd even registered it he'd pulled away from her, becoming a black blur darting amongst the flock of screeching birds, slashing at as many that dared to get close. She’d heard something crash behind her, the shouts of the guards and knights fending off the swarm mixed with screams and footfalls of people trying to rush out of the room all at once. Her own feet had still refused to move as she’d tried to comprehend what was happening. 

A particularly nasty looking raven had let loose a piercing screech and dove at her, angry red eyes flashing. Her voice had finally returned and she’d let out a strangled cry, the bird rushing too fast for her to even attempt to shield herself. She’d thought she’d heard someone’s voice roar over the noise, _“No--!”_

Then darkness had overtaken. 

He’d jumped in front of her just in time, but not quickly enough to avoid the bird’s talons slicing his right shoulder. Before it could swoop down for a second attack he’d spun and cleaved the raven cleanly in two. 

Time had slowed before her eyes. She’d wondered at the sight of him, standing with the tip of his sword still balanced in midair from where he’d killed the raven, his other hand lightly clutching the area the bird’s claws had nicked him--fabric torn, blood staining his fingers--his hair falling in his face and a glint in his eye--like light flashing off of obsidian--coupled with a hard, proud expression; her most unlikely savior. 

Then something had hit the pillar she’d been leaning against, making it crack, and time suddenly started moving again. 

She’d stumbled away from the collapsing stone, only to have him grab her arm and jerk her in the other direction. Seconds later a huge chuck of the stone had fallen and cracked the marble floor just where she had been standing.

He’d turned her to face him, using his free hand to pull up the hood of her cloak.

He’d told her to run. 

She had tried to protest, eyeing his shoulder with concern etched on her face--fear and worry stirring her belly--but a new wave of ravens were descending upon them. He’d raised his sword, killing four of them with one swing. 

_“Go.”_ He’d insisted over his shoulder--and then, when she still hadn’t moved-- _“Now!”_

And she’d run.

......

 

The third time they’d spoken was also the last.

The war had begun. Daily the prince’s citizens were attacked by the vicious ravens, clawing out their eyes and hair as their leader attempted to locate the sole person with the purest heart he could consume. 

At first, only the humans were affected by the outbreak, but soon even the surrounding animals of the kingdom had become targets. Even she had never believed they’d get as far as the lake, and yet it had felt as though day by day she and her hand maidens were pushed back farther and farther, closer to the lake’s opposite bank. Defending themselves had become a priority.

This had left little time to check up on her beloved prince. But she'd slipped away when she could, and kept an ear open for any new information. 

Due to the raven’s assault, the prince and his mother as well as those inhabiting the castle had been driven out. They, like many others, had spent their days camping in the castles grounds, helping keep the violence under control. They'd fought when they could, but it seemed the more the prince displayed his bravery and devotion to his people, the more the attacks concentrated on those closest to him. 

After her maidens would finish relaying her the latest news of the prince and his traveling party, she would inwardly battle with herself before she'd relent and ask the other question that burned at the back of her mind. 

And every time they had assured her that yes, _he_ , it seemed, was still alive. She'd tried to keep her voice casual and expression steady in her reaction, even though the hands that had previously been clenched so tightly the knuckles had whitened her skin had visibly relaxed.

She’d wondered when those feelings of uneasiness and repulsion and morphed into concern. 

She’d tried to put it out of her mind, tried to focus on her frightened charges and the prince and the day-to-day battles fought with the terror inducing birds constantly lurking in the shadows. And she’d convinced herself that her only worry for _him_ was whether he would be around to protect Siegfried with she and her maidens so preoccupied. 

As usual, he'd left her with a muddling of emotions that she could not decipher from one another. And she'd chose to resent him for it. 

......

 

She’d been flying through the trees, her maidens close behind, when she’d spotted the prince. The brief sight of him caused her to slow to a stop momentarily. 

And a split second later the land had been encased in darkness. The monster raven himself had risen from the forest, high into the sky and spread his wigs wide enough to cover the whole of the castle’s grounds. All at once his ravens lower on the ground had flown up to hover in an ominous mass over the treetops. Her group had dipped as one into the lower levels of the wood, hoping the trees would help to conceal them as they’d dropped from they’re swan forms, so as to move more easily on the ground. 

There had been movement up ahead. They’d continued quickly through the undergrowth until they’d broken into a clearing, nearly colliding with another traveling party.

Cloaked men with heavy boots were gathered before them. For a moment the group of women had been too startled to move. Then a cry from the monster raven above them sent the men hurtling off in the opposite direction. 

 

Save for two. 

 

She’d known he’d been aware of her presence. Even while in deep conversation with the prince, he’d subtly shifted to block her from view. Judging from the way Siegfried's mouth had pulled into a firm line, the topic of their discussion wasn’t something he'd been entirely pleased with. 

Finally, after fixing his favored knight with a long hesitant look, the prince followed in the direction his men had previously taken. 

Only after he’d disappeared though the trees did she approach him. 

He’d been filthy. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d told her he’d been rolling around in the dirt that had long replaced the rich grass that coated the forest since the ravens had arrived. He’d been thinner too, or as much as she could tell from the way his cape had hung from his frame. 

He’d looked so tired. 

The following conversation between them had turned into more of a fierce one-sided argument. He’d explained, with unnerving calm, that he was going to face the raven. Right then. On his own.

She’d stared, wide-eyed, too shocked to react, then asked if the prince was aware of what he planned to do. His answering silence had told her enough.

She’d shouted at him--another first in her life time--telling him that he was reckless, begging him to reconsider or seek the prince’s help, or at least one of the other knights. But he’d told her that the raven, after scavenging the kingdom, had come to the conclusion that it was the prince’s heart he most desired.  
He had to protect his prince, whatever the cost. 

Although she’d understood this, better than anyone else could, she’d still objected to his decision. She’d kept insisting that he might fall, that he may die for all his efforts, leaving the prince wide open for an attack. 

He’d only tilted his head, fixing her with a slightly weary expression and asked, plainly _Wouldn’t she be there to take his place, as always?_

She hadn’t known whether to strike him or burst into tears. How could someone like _him_ have been saying such things to her? He’d been such strong, confident, enduring fixture in her life. He would take on any challenge with unwavering self-assurance and emerge from the battle without a scratch. Why had he sounded so solemn, like something was coming to an end? 

Like he'd given up?

She would have stayed, quite possibly to literally beat some sense into him. But her handmaidens had been physically pulling her away, insisting that the air had changed and it couldn’t possibly be safe for her to stay in one place. 

She’d barley heard his last mumbled words to her, assuring her that they’d see one another again (although the tone of his promise was more grieved then comforting.)

Her last words to him might have been something close to a warning; but all she’d recall of the night was simply shouting his name over and over again above the rush of wind parting the treetops into a clear open stage for his final act. 

 

He’d never landed a single blow, and had been cleaved from his shoulder to his waist in the flash of a huge razor talon. Over the triumphant cackle of the monster raven--coupled with the mocking calls of his underlings and dismayed, outraged cries of the prince and onlookers--it had been nearly impossible to make out upon impact the single high scream of complete, utter despair that emitted from the clearing below. 

Later, when the knights went to recover his body, they’d found it cleaned and carefully wrapped in his cape, his sword sheathed and resting on top of his chest. 

A handful of white feathers scattered around his rigid body.

......

 

She’d felt an odd sort of numbness that had spread down to her very toes. Her handmaidens begged her to leave, to forget her prince and flee the country while she could still remain safe. With _his_ death the attacks had surged on more savagely than ever, with more and more slaughtered every day. The monster raven was relentless in his quest and refused to cease until the prince’s heart had been surrendered to him. 

Prince Siegfried, in response to the murder of his most dear and trusted friend, had flown into a rage and ruthlessly met every wave of attack the raven cast upon him. (She been somewhat chagrined to find that she was not the only one who _he_ could force to act so completely out of character, even when dead.)

She hadn’t seen any reason to run. She’d failed him--the _both_ of them, he and their prince. She’d felt that she might now understand the weary look he’d had in his eyes--that defeated curve of his shoulders.

In truth, they’d been far more alike than she had ever imagined. Both had fought without any concern for their own well-being to protect the person they’d loved the most. They had done everything possible to make certain no harm came to him. And yet, here they were; him dead and her broken, the kingdom--her _home_ \--crumbling around her feet, and their cherished prince rushing headlong into the raven's talons without anyone able to shield him from harm. They had both failed to do anything to fight for and protect their most precious person. 

And the meat of it, deep down, when she’d allowed herself to ruminate on it, was that he’d been the only one she’d really understood—who’d understood her in turn. She’d lost a dear comrade--nay, if she's honest, a _friend_ \--she hadn’t even realize she’d had. 

Even after she’d comprehended this, the gravity of her loss, she’d hardly had the energy left to weep.

There was nothing left to do.

 

When she’d found the prince, he’d been alone, battling a flock of the murderous birds. 

She hadn’t bothered to disguise herself, instead openly rushing in, twirling a pillar of vines into existence to help him reach his attackers while blocking those that she could with her own fans. 

Once they’d been defeated and the two of them stopped for breadth, he’d looked at her--blinking as if he couldn’t quite convince himself of her existence. She’d stood there watching as he’d tried to make his lips form the question that shown so clearly in his eyes.

But she’d become tired. So very tired. And seeing him there before her--in torn clothes and dirt smudged on his face trying to make words out of the incoherent sounds emitting from his lips and looking at her with such guileless wonder--the boy that she would give anything for, still so brilliantly beautiful despite it all, the prince _her_ prince Siegfried oh _Siegfried_ , whom she _loved_ \--

Tears had blurred her vision. Her mind teased with slips of memories of what had been; of clear lakes and her maiden’s gentle voices echoing through the trees, of graceful figures waltzing and quite summer afternoons in the castle's court yard watching the prince and his men practice swordplay. And a constant shadowy figure who was always close by, both a warning and reassurance at the same time. 

The things she could never get back.

 

She’d moved towards him, fixing him with a wistful, sad smile, and had lightly rested her hands on his shoulders. 

Though her tears, she’d whispered a gentle apology; a hope that someday, she could help him where she had failed before. 

Without raising her bowed head--for she could bear to look at him while saying what she'd been about to say--she’d told him the one thing she’d been forbidden to speak allowed. 

Right before she'd vanished, her body shimmering and rising and dispersing into something that was lighter than air, she’d smiled at his bewildered expression--wondering if he’d even heard her confession--and for a moment she'd thought she could see _him_ standing there as well; all shadow and mystery with those sharp dark eyes, just as she’d remembered him. And she’d prayed that, somehow, they might be able to keep their promises. 

All of them.

 

......

_“I hope one day, I can stand beside you, and love you in the way that you deserve.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack is as follows:  
> Tutu ponders Lohengrin/"first meeting": Mozart: Piano Concerto #20 In D Minor, K 466 - 2. Romance  
> Tutu Watching Siegfried Dance: Haydn: String Quartet In C, Op. 76/3, H 3/77, "Emperor" - Poco Adagio  
> Tutu and Lohengrin Rescuing Siegfried Montage: Mozart: Le Nozze Di Figaro, K 492 - Overture  
> Guests Arriving to the Party: Bizet: L' Arlésienne Suite #2 - Farandole  
> Siegfried's Party Waltz: J. Strauss, Jr.: Emperor Waltz, Op. 437, RV 437  
> The Raven's Attack: Wagner: Lohengrin - Act III: Prelude  
> The Kingdom in Shambles/ News for Tutu: Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #2, Op. 55 - Solveig's Song  
> Tutu and Lohengrin Final "Argument"/Lohengrin's Death: Barber: Adagio For Strings, Op. 11  
> Tutu/Siegfried Goodbye Scene/Tutu's Death: Handel: Serse, HWV 40 - Largo)


End file.
